


Playtime

by schreibzumlesen



Series: rattle your chains if you love being free [5]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bondage, Dom!Yennefer, Dom/sub, F/M, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multi, Riding Crops, Roleplay, Safe Sane and Consensual, Spanking, Sub!Jaskier, Switch!Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24627430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schreibzumlesen/pseuds/schreibzumlesen
Summary: Geralt is just as thorough with this as with everything else he does, fighting, cooking, punishing, and he paints Jaskier’s inner thighs a bright red that causes Jaskier to howl and tug on the ropes even more desperately.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: rattle your chains if you love being free [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622392
Comments: 14
Kudos: 245





	Playtime

Even without seeing her, Jaskier can tell that Yennefer is more than furious. The blindfold takes his sight and leaves nothing but vague darkness for Jaskier to explore, and the rope that binds his hands and feet to the legs of the table that he is bend over naked doesn’t leave any room for movement, but after spending days, weeks, months and years in her company, the way Yennefer walks now is different, the way she moves. She also doesn’t try to conceal her anger when she scolds him - and then there’s the riding crop in her hand that Jaskier can hear quite clearly as she slices the air with it experimentally.

“Yen, listen, I didn’t mean to-“

“You never mean to do anything,” she interrupts him with an icy voice. “Isn’t it that? You just _sort of_ , just accidentally, _stumble_ in other people’s beds, and then you spend the night with them without ever intending to do so.”

The first strike lands on his exposed arse and leaves a sharp line of burning fire. Jaskier gasps in response.

“Yen…”

“Am I not right?!” She hits him again, harder this time, across his thighs.

Jaskier doesn’t know what to reply to her accusations; yes, he could try to talk his way out of this punishment, he could deny everything, he could attempt to appease her, but whenever Yen is determined to discipline him for something, she usually follows through with whatever she has in mind. She can be like that: strict and stern and harsh, yet loving at the same time, and Jaskier feels unashamedly attracted to it.

Each new strike stings unbearably and soon, Jaskier cannot distinguish between the many marks that the crop leaves on his skin, since they seem to merge into one throbbing area of pain.

“Forgive me…,” he brings out and tests the rope without much success. Geralt knows his knots and he’s been in this position before.

“You will be forgiven after we’re done with this,” Yennefer says, still bringing the crop down on Jaskier’s abused arse.

Jaskier moans and lays his head on the table. Shit, fuck, it _hurts_ , it hurts so damn much. Maybe if he’s lucky, the crop will be the only thing he will get, but Jaskier doesn’t dare to hope. In any case he won’t be able to sit down comfortably for the next few days, if not more, and he will have to sleep on his stomach until the forming welts on his arse are fully healed. Fuck, fuck, shit – he can’t even think of a more creative way to curse.

“You betrayed both of us,” Yennefer reminds him without mercy and Jaskier closes his eyes under the blindfold, despite it making no difference.

“I-I won’t do it again.”

The riding crop stops in its movement and Jaskier takes a deep, shuddering breath and tries to focus on something other than his throbbing rear.

“You won’t,” Yennefer agrees and taps his right arse cheek a few times as a warning.

Jaskier shakes his head eagerly. “No, never. Never, I swear, I won’t do it again.”

“Mh.”

He waits for another strike but it doesn’t come. Instead the room is quiet, almost calm, but that also means that there’s nothing else that Jaskier can concentrate on and so his thoughts turn back to his sore arse and the humiliating position he’s in. He’s aware that this is one of Yen’s tactics to force him to focus on his punishment and how badly he fucked up. For a while, all Jaskier can hear is his own loud breathing and his involuntary whimpers when he contemplates what else Yen could do to him. He knows that she has a cane somewhere, and a mean-looking paddle with holes in it that she only used to threaten Jaskier with so far. There’s much more in her vast and steadily growing collection, things that Jaskier enjoys and some that he honestly loathes, and then there are a few rare objects that she hasn’t tried on him, but in the end it’s her choice alone. Jaskier made the mistake to try and manipulate her before, and he won’t do it another time.

Eventually, Yennefer speaks again, and her voice is slightly softer, which Jaskier only realises because of their shared time together. It’s a command though, and he knows it’s not over yet.

“Geralt.”

Of course. The other person he betrayed.

Geralt stands from his seat on the sofa, having watched Jaskier’s punishment silently until now, and makes his way over to where Jaskier is still bound to the table. Like always when Jaskier wears a blindfold, he is careful to move louder than he normally does, and Jaskier appreciates his efforts and loves Geralt even more for it.

He smiles weakly when he feels Geralt’s calloused hand on his lower back.

“Hi.”

Geralt doesn’t reply anything but soothingly strokes Jaskier’s back until Yennefer gives another order.

“Use your hand. Don’t be gentle.”

And he is not, covering Jaskier’s arse and thighs in handprints of fiery pain that emphasize the welts of the crop even more. Jaskier cries out every time Geralt’s massive – honestly, fucking massive, when did it get that fucking big?! – hand connects with his arse, and he whimpers and hisses and sobs his way through the hits until the blindfold is wet with his tears.

Geralt is just as thorough with this as with everything else he does, fighting, cooking, punishing, and he paints Jaskier’s inner thighs a bright red that causes Jaskier to howl and tug on the ropes even more desperately.

“Enough,” he chokes out and Geralt immediately stops. “Fuck, enough, enough… Let me up…”

Geralt unties him so fast Jaskier doesn’t even realise it until Geralt helps him up and Jaskier is pressed against his chest, sobbing into his neck while Geralt rubs his back, softly slips the blindfold off and murmurs words that Jaskier doesn’t understand. The world is suddenly too bright, so Jaskier closes his eyes again and follows Geralt’s lead as he is guided towards a bed and half wrapped up in a blanket. This is better than the table, much nicer, yes… A hand closes around his hard cock, Yen or Geralt, Jaskier can’t tell, but it doesn’t take long for him to come with a hoarse cry, and yes… everything feels _so_ so good.

It takes some moments for Jaskier to come back into reality and actually think straight again and not stare dumbly at the ceiling. He’s lying between Geralt and Yen on the bed, Geralt leaning over to kiss him tenderly, and Yen petting his hair and massaging his neck, and it’s… perfect. Amazing… Wonderful.

“Love you,” Jaskier says instead, his voice slightly slurred. He blinks slowly and smiles. Geralt does, too, and Yen laughs quietly.

“Welcome back, songbird. Did you like your punishment?”

Blissfully and content, Jaskier sighs and nods. What was there not to like? It had been his idea to try something new and while it had taken some time to convince Geralt, he and Yen were both open to new forms of playing with their power over Jaskier. A pretended punishment was much better than a real one, he can be sure now.

“I don’t think I can ever sit down again,” he announces, deeply satisfied. “Geralt’s hand is an astonishing weapon.”

“It was your preferred choice, little lark,” Geralt reminds him and kisses his temple, his neck, his shoulder.

Jaskier frowns, but he can’t argue with it. “To be fair, I believed we would begin with your hand, not end with it. Seems much more logical, yes?”

“Always complaining like the spoiled brat he is.” Yennefer shakes her head in amusement. “Geralt, do you want to take him over your knee for another round? I think it would do wonders for that naughty mouth of his.” Her words betray her actions though as she opens a little jar with salve and taps Jaskier’s hip for him to turn on his stomach.

“You like my naughty mouth,” he says and obeys. Because he wants to, because it’s his choice, because his arse is still aching, because he watched Yennefer enchant the salve the day before so it would cool his hot skin more.

And because he loves them both.

**Author's Note:**

> Toss a comment to your writer! :D   
> Suggestions for further little OneShots are very welcome!


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